


Sayaka and Homura in the Homura-verse, pt. 2: Misbehaving Angels

by TaraSamadhi



Series: Love and Adventure in the Homura-verse [6]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Comedy, Cosmic, Deity sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Erotica, F/F, Food, Frenemies, Friendship, Humorous Ending, Idiots in Love, Mild Language, Mischief, Music, Non-Explicit Sex, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romantic Comedy, Same-Sex Marriage, Sex, Sexual Humor, Slapstick, Time Shenanigans, True Love, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSamadhi/pseuds/TaraSamadhi
Summary: Sayaka, some time after her experience with Homura in which she helped Homura get rid of the wraiths and come to grips with her rage at Madoka, is coming home to make dinner when she meets Homura standing in the street near the house Sayaka shares with Kyouko in their own reality that Homura just learned about.Sayaka feeds Homura and gets her drunk, and all hell breaks loose. Or heaven, maybe.





	Sayaka and Homura in the Homura-verse, pt. 2: Misbehaving Angels

I was on my way home, dinner weighing down one of my shoulders in an overloaded bag, walking slowly as the light settled down into dusk. Kyouko wasn’t going to be home from work until late. Turning toward home one block down, I saw a huge human shadow slide toward me, the person casting it standing sideways to the sun, rotating slowly counterclockwise. Widdershins. That’s what the old magic called it. Then she stood straight and still, somehow projecting confusion the more collected she appeared. 

“Homura!” I called out. “What are you doing here?”

She spoke to me as I walked up to her. “Do you mind my joining you in your little partition of my universe?”

I laughed. “No problem at all. It’s more comfortable here than in the official environment, at least since the wraiths went away.”

Homura smiled sadly. “All of you look pretty happy.”

“Well of course we do,” I said. “You’re not a scary hell bitch anymore. Now you’re just a hell bitch.”

One of the corners of her mouth twitched up. “That’s why I brought you here. I didn’t want to be the only one.”

I laughed and gestured forward. We walked to Kyouko’s and my house, a tiny place squeezed between a convenience store and a laundromat. I opened the door and let Homura in. We kicked off our shoes and walked into the living room. A skylight let in some lingering burnt umber light. Homura smiled.

“I like this,” she said. She looked with obvious pleasure at the traditional wall hangings and other art stuff Kyouko and I had picked up here and there. What was her place like, I wondered. Did she even have a place?

I set the groceries down on a kitchen counter and turned on the electric kettle so we could have tea. Then I set the groceries for dinner out on a cutting board and put the rest wherever they would be when we needed them.

Homura watched me curiously. “Have you always been able to cook?”

I grinned. “Not until I got together with Kyouko. She loves to eat, so I cook. She tries to cook too, but I don’t let her. She gets impatient and things go flying.”

Homura nodded. She was dressed like and comporting herself as a school girl.

“Homura,” I said, “do me a favor and look your age. Because I’m giving you something to loosen you up. You look like you’re hanging from a coat rack.”

Homura looked startled, then transformed to the twenty five year-old she really was after her hellish timeline cycling. Somehow her clothes still fit her. She undoubtedly was in the habit of looking really young for Madoka’s sake, since she was going to school with her in the official space. But Madoka knew what was happening, now, and since learning that Homura had been unsure about what to do. But her maturing twenties-something beauty fit her well.

I poured Homura a glass of Japanese single-malt whiskey and dropped an ice cube in it. “Here,” I said. “Get drunk so I can take advantage of you.”

Homura actually snorted. She took the glass. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

“It’s good,” I said. “It’s like silky fire, and it has a lot of flavors that unfold sequentially on your palate if you don’t drink it too fast. The Scotland variety is a lot more interesting, but we do a pretty good job.”

“I’m having real trouble with your intelligent incarnation, Sayaka. It’s making me question the nature of things. Oh, this is good.”

Homura’s face flushed as she drank, and I mean drank. She was gulping it.

“Homura, don’t,” I said. “This stuff is for real. This part of your universe is as material as any other.”

Homura beamed hugely as she finished the whiskey off. “I REALLY like this stuff. May I have some more?”

That made me nervous, but I poured her another glass. I wasn’t nervous because she might get drunk. I was nervous because she was happy. Her eyes were bright and she was smiling. I had no idea how that might affect the fabric of the odd reality in which she and the rest of her imprisoned friends were living. I cast suspicious looks at her from the side of my eye as I got the rice cooking and prepared the shrimp and vegetables that would go on it. The shrimp were already cooked and the vegetables were nothing hard to deal with and the wok got sufficiently hot and the rice wouldn’t take long, so dinner should be ready soon.

“I’d better go,” Homura said. She was swaying a bit.

“No, you had better not,” I said. I opened the refrigerator, took out a quart bottle of spring water, twisted off the cap, and gave it to her. “Drink every bit of this right now. Don’t stop until it’s gone.”

Homura narrowed her eyes and actually pouted, but she obeyed. Glug glug glug. Just like the whiskey. That was it. She was thirsty. The demon hell bitch queen of the universe was probably dehydrated. When she finished the water I handed her another bottle and she drank that. I went and got the wok ready, splashed in some oil and soy sauce and some kind of rice wine extract Kyouko bought the day before, and threw the shrimp and vegetables in. They made a snake-like hissing sound, smoke rose, and I whipped the food around in the wok for a few minutes. Then I moved the wok to another part of the stove, got a couple of plates out of the cabinet, heard a ding from the rice cooker, and plated up shrimp and vegetables on rice. I, I told myself, am a supreme culinary genius. World, bow down.

“Homura,” I said. “There are chopsticks and silverware in that drawer right there. And oh damn it, how long has the kettle been going. The water’s almost gone! This place is filled with steam.” The whiskey had hit me, too, because I had guzzled mine while watching Homura guzzle hers and had some more while she had more. She got some chopsticks and napkins from the drawer and gestured to the little dining room table smushed up against the wall a few feet away. I nodded. Then I set the tea brewing in a pot, grabbed two cups, and took them to the table. Then I collapsed in one chair, across from Homura, who was collapsed in the other.

We set to work eating. I shoveled food into my mouth, ravenous, but she was barely eating. She was mainly staring at her food.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is the food not to your liking?”

She looked at me, eyes slightly crossed. “I think I may be drunk.”

“Yes, whiskey plus dehydration can have that effect. Let’s eat and then you can get more that way. You just have to keep drinking water or tea or whatever.”

Homura nodded and commenced eating, gingerly at first and then at full gale force. It was awe-inspiring. She was delivering fist-sized packets of food to her mouth, one after another. I got up, put on an oven mitt, got the wok, and stood beside her as she verged on inhaling her plate.

“Here,” I said, and spooned out food onto her plate. There was still plenty for Kyouko to complain about there not being enough.

I sat down and stared at Homura as she continued to hammer her dinner down. “Homura, I thought a goddess or demon or whatever you are didn’t get hungry or thirsty.”

“You’d think,” she said with her mouth full of food, “but it’s not true. Damn, this is good.”

I snuck over to the whiskey bottle, poured her another glass neat, and brought the pot of steeped tea to the table with the whiskey. She eyed the whiskey suspiciously, tried to figure out whether to attack it or the food first, then somehow did both. Down went the food, followed by the whiskey, followed by the food, followed by tea, followed by whiskey, until she was pretty much mixing it all and pouring it down her throat.

I was awestruck. It was like watching a lightning storm outside when you knew it could strike. Now, this was a cool Homura. Drunk, eating way too much, cross-eyed, making little sounds of protest and distress as she subjected herself to dinner.

Finally, she literally fell back against the wall, scooting the chair a little forward as her normally ramrod straight body turned into rubber. Hair was covering her face. “Oh God,” she said. 

This was the best thing ever. There were some odds and ends in a little box tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers, so I dug through them and found a couple of rubber bands. She barely noticed, in her altered state, as I crossed over and pulled her hair back in a big pony tail. Oh, this was fun.

“I’m glad Madoka can’t see me,” she said.

Madoka walked in.

Our door is never locked, and visitors just wander in unless we tell them not to. There was Kaname Madoka looking at Akemi Homura sitting across the table from Miki Sayaka in the house Miki Sayaka shared with Sakura Kyouko.

The absurdly cute pony-tailed drunk demon bitch queen of the universe, in her mid-twenties form, sat looking up at the absurdly cute pink-haired woman in mid-twenties form. Their mutual astonishment was huge, like a wave. I was so vastly entertained that I thought I might die.

“Ma-“

“Ho-“

Their conversation was off to a good start, so I staggered my way across the kitchen, poured myself some more whiskey, poured some for Madoka, and gave it to her. Then, having decided to carry the bottle as I drank, I poured some more whiskey into Homura’s glass and drank the rest of my own.

The demon bitch queen and the glorious goddess queen were still staring dumbstruck at each other. This, I thought, is the best thing I have ever experienced. Nothing in life could possibly beat this in any way. Except maybe sex when it’s good. Or even when it isn’t good. But this is completely fantastic.

I brought a chair in from the living room and sat Madoka down in it. She and her love were actually generating some kind of spectrum-complete ray between their eyes. Literally. At first Homura’s side was purple and Madoka’s was pink, but then the purple and pink blended and blurred out in an incandescent brightness. I was suddenly quite sure that this was something I shouldn’t witness.

The last thing I saw before I staggered out of the kitchen was Madoka slugging down her whiskey and moving over to sit on Homura’s lap. Oh no, I thought. Hoo boy. I went to the stereo and took out one of Kyosuke’s recordings, this one of one of Beethoven’s late, bizarre sonatas for violin. This would chill us out. An idiot genius playing Beethoven’s strangest work. Otherwise, I might have to throw a pail of cold water on them, after having created this situation in the first place.

Kyosuke’s violin surged into the living room and my drunken sensory manifold opened up. God, what an amazing violinist. Of course I fell in love with him. But he needed a big-boobed mama like Mami and that’s what he got. I collapsed into the couch, realized my responsibilities, and got up again.

Homura and Madoka were grappling each other by the dining table, mouths clamped together and hands moving rapidly where they normally would not go.

Oh no. I had really done it. I had really screwed up this time. I…

Laughed my ass off, bouncing off various surfaces of the living room and landing on my back on the floor, trying to breathe as the cruel laughter took away my oxygen.

My cell phone was somewhere nearby. I just knew it was. The coffee table? Maybe. I crawled to the coffee table, found my phone, dialed, and muttered as Kyouko answered the phone.

“I need you,” I said. “I need you to come home. Madoka and Homura are about to start having some kind of deity sex in the kitchen. I’m safe, don’t worry, but there is about to be some seriously supernatural sex going down in the kitchen, any minute now.”

“You’re drunk!”

“I am, but don’t worry, I’m on the floor in the loving arms of gravity.”

“What…”

“I need you. Please come home. Forgive me. I may have just accidentally destroyed the cosmos.”

I dropped the phone and was about to crawl safely under the table when Madoka walked toward our bedroom, with Homura in a princess carry.

“No,” I told myself. “No, this cannot be.” I strenuously crawled into the kitchen to the foot of the counter where the whiskey was. There wasn’t much left, so I drank it straight from the bottle.

Vast storms of light began to erupt from the bedroom into the rest of the house. Dancing apparitions of mythical creatures, ornate hallucinations of traditional Japanese flowers, mountain ranges, birds flying and landing and singing everywhere. Then there was the wind, howling out of the bedroom but not troubling anything. Cries of ecstasy I did not want to think about. Surging rainbows emerging from the Beethoven music, curling, laughing, joyful maniacal faces everywhere. More cries of ecstasy. Gotta close the door, I thought. Gotta close the bedroom door or everything will transform into apparitions of desires not my own.

I crawled to the bedroom and reached for the bottom of the door, hoping I could grab it and pull it toward me without seeing anything happening on the bed.

Too late. 

Angels. Not demons or goddesses. Angels, pure entities of light crackling out of another dimension in my own, grinding into each other and touching and kissing and making angel sounds. Every movement of their bodies was a planetary history. Every shudder of desire and satisfaction was the birth of a universe. Gigantic waves of blinding blue and pink and white light swirled and eddied, crashed and diffused before building up and exploding again. The angels had no features, although their tangled limbs were easy to make out. It was nothing but love itself, terrifying and eternal and way too much for me to take. Even though it was my fault.

Somehow, against all odds, I pulled the door shut using its bottom edge, then crawled into the living room. I was almost entering a coma when the door opened and Kyouko ran over to me.

“Sayaka, what…”

“The gods are screwing in there,” I said. “I’m serious. So come and lie down beside your wife. Comfort her. She got a goddess and a demon drunk and this was the result.”

Kyouko took my word for it, as she always does. She lay beside me and pulled me into her, cradling my shamed face in her breast.

“Crap,” she said. “I can hear it. Is that what it sounds like?”

“I guess so,” I said. “I guess that is what it sounds like.”

When the two of us woke up, the house was still and the angels were gone, having destroyed the bedroom and probably altered the molecular structure of everything we owned, and maybe of the world. I’m sure they went off to do it again somewhere private, where no one would notice a titanic explosion of primal sexual energy washing over everything in light of an unknown spectrum.

We were afraid to go outside, but when we did, things had changed.

We don’t know exactly how. We just now stepped outside. But something has changed.

 

END


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